


Veleno Angelo

by hikari100



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Blood and Gore, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Poisoning, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:08:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2382803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikari100/pseuds/hikari100
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waylon Smithers, such a quiet guy...you wouldn't suspect anything different about him. Unknown to anyone, he is hiding a dark secret that threatens his very existence. Now, it's up to the Simpsons to help him, or will Smithers loose his very sanity? *Being Re-written*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Shocking Tale

{This here is a Simpsons Halloween special; do enjoy yourselves}

Springfield  
1974

It had been a warm night, that day. Such an unusual thing to occur at so late in the year. One would suspect something suspicious with the sudden, yet pleasant weather. But alas, many were enjoying this rare night without a care in the world. 'Twas a shame that it has to end with murder...

{...}

A young man sighed softly, his warm brown eyes carefully scanning the Ocurita Angelo. This place had opened up about a year ago, a classy Italian joint that was steadily gaining in popularity. His eyes dimmed slightly as his mind drifted over the recent events; disturbing him greatly. After having graduated with high honors, he had met a beautiful southern belle. They eventually fell in love and married; only for him to fall ill shortly thereafter. His illness would come and go at times; while there would be a period where it would last days, sometimes even weeks.

He frowned, eyes darkening.

Thanks to his illness, he and his wife slowly drifted apart. And so, after six months of marriage; they divorced. Oh, don't get him wrong, he loved her very much, it's just...

It felt like he was missing something.  
Maybe that's why he came back to Springfield?

Shaking that off, he took a sip of his wine when a sudden bout of weakness struck him. Grimacing slightly, he set his glass down. Besides the weakness, he could feel the familiar sense of nausea settling in. Knowing that it would only get worse, he pained for his meal and hastily got to his feet.

Big mistake.

Dizziness washed over him as his vision blurred; bile rising. Thankfully, a waiter saw his distress and hailed a cab for him; much to his relief. His stomach gave a sudden lurch, and his throat burned needlessly. Groaning softly, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small green handkerchief. And without warning, he started to cough.

A low, wet cough.

He glanced down, grimacing slightly. A thick, dark red liquid was splashed against the green cloth. It was blood, and not exactly a good sign. Eyes hardening, he schooled his features into a mask of calmness. Pocketing the bloodied cloth, he waved off the concern of the helpful waiter, and by some miracle, managed to walk outside. Getting into the cab, he gave the driver his address, surprising the man. Yes, he didn't look like it, but he did live in one of Springfield's more classier neighborhoods. Closing his eyes, he leaned back; breathing slowly.

As the car started up, he felt decidedly uneasy. How strange, he mused to himself. A dangerous primal fear was taking root, growing stronger the closer they neared his flat. After what felt like an eternity, it was only about fifteen minutes, when the cabbie pulled up to his home. Swallowing thickly, he paid the driver; giving the man an extra tip, before stepping out. The driver simply grunted, before taking off with a surprising intensity.

Interesting.

Shaking it off, he turned to his home and headed up the stairs. Unfortunately, he had no way of knowing that he would be entering a hellish nightmare. This once peaceful evening was abruptly disrupted by a loud and sudden bang.

Followed by a bloodcurdling scream...

.-.-.-.  
Springfield  
Time Unknown

Dear diary,

You'll never believe what I found today! On my way home from school, I had this sudden urge to take a short cut. Why I felt the need to be near the cemetery, I don't know. But, maybe this bracelet has something to do with it? All I know that it's a medical bracelet. I wonder who it belongs to?

.-.-.-.  
Springfield  
Present Time

Marge Simpson hummed softly as she placed her youngest daughter; Margaret 'Maggie' Simpson, carefully into her highchair. Her blue curls bounced slightly as she began to unload the weekly groceries. Maggie curiously picked up an apple as Marge smiled. "Let's see here," she mused as she reached for a bag. "Fruit Rollups for Bart," Marge set the package of sweets onto the table. "Beer Rollups for Homer," She rolled her eyes at the name, but placed the sweets onto the table.

Eh?

Marge pulled out the roll of paper towels, before frowning. "Burly?" She wondered, sighing. "Oh, Maggie I bought the wrong brand."The toddler tilted her head, green eyes wide and innocent. However, as Marge lifted the roll out, her sea blue eyes widen, before her face flushed. Underneath the name, was a godly man. Wavy chestnut hair, tanned skin, and those muscles! Marge giggled, earning a curious look from her baby girl. "You'll understand someday, Maggie," She said dreamily as she went about her day.  
There wasn't much to say about the day’s events, save for that cruel prank that was pulled. Not only did Homer anger and humiliated his wife, but his friend Barney Gumble, was also furious with Homer.

Thankfully, Homer's daughter; Lisa, suggested that he'd make it up with a dinner and a show. Thinking it over, Homer made some last minute reservations with the Pimento Grove; much to Marge's delight. It looked like Homer was in the clear, for now anyway.  
Sitting at their table, Bart and Lisa exchanged knowing looks as their mom smiled happily as the pianist played wonderfully. The Simpsons children looked very similar to one another, and yet, they were so different. They sported the same spiky blond hair and pale skin; only Lisa had their mother's sea blue eyes, while Bart and Maggie had their dad's forest green eyes. Lisa was quietly scanning the restaurant, when her eyes widen slightly. 

There, only three tables away, sat Mr. Smithers and Mr. Burns. Without warning, Mr. Smithers turned his head ever so slightly until his doe brown eyes met her stunned blue ones. For a moment, nothing happened; then the man gave her a little smile, placing a finger to his lips as if to hush her.

Okay…that was weird.

Lisa shivered, a faint trickle of fear went down her spine. Why was she afraid all of a sudden? Mr. Smithers was a pretty harmless man, but tonight, there was something different about him.

Something dark.

She finally relaxed as the man turned his attention back to the stage, but she was trembling like a little leaf. Bart, who was sitting next to her, felt her shaking. He glanced at her, worry reflecting in his green eyes. "You okay?" He asked quietly, making sure that their parents couldn’t hear them. Despite how he acted, Bart did care for his sisters. "I-I'm fine," She stuttered, lying. Only she knew that she failed at that, as Bart was giving her a skeptical look. "Uh-huh," he muttered, rolling his eyes. However, he kept silent and turned back to the stage; which allowed Lisa to breathe a sigh of relief. When the pianist had finished, the host walked out onto the stage, holding a microphone. "Wasn't she wonderful folks?" He asked cheerfully as the crowd clapped politely. "Our next guest, hailing from Las Vegas, is Mesmerino!"

Mesmerino?

The host proceeded to leave, just as an eerie purple mist swirled ominous. The mist slowly dispersed, revealing a large pyramid. There was a hidden latch, which suddenly opened; and a man in his early forties, stepped out. Mesmerino was a tall, athletic man with graying dark hair, a thin mustache and intense dark eyes. He wore a purple and black tuxedo, including a lavender turban. His dark eyes carefully scanned the crowd, before giving a knowing smirk. "Good evening," he greeted as he bowed. He had a low voice, the faint trace of an accent could be heard. "I promise you this," He straightened himself. "Tonight will be a night that you will never forget."

Mesmerino calmly stepped down, seemingly gliding along the floor. Surprisingly enough, he stopped at the table where Mr. Smithers and Mr. Burns sat. For some reason, he seemed to be focusing intensely on Mr. Smithers.

How curious…

"You know," Mesmerino mused. "I could help you find out the truth about your father." Mr. Smithers frowned as Mr. Burns stiffened. "My father's dead," He said sharply, his voice low, but surprisingly rich. The temperature suddenly went down several notches, causing a few people to shiver. Sensing that he was treading on thin ice, Mesmerino moved on. It was funny, though. As Mesmerino walked away, the temperature returned to normal, much to the confusion of many. "I'll be needing a volunteer," Mesmerino announced, inwardly shuddering at the dark presence. Much to the horror of Bart and Lisa, their dad eagerly raised his hand. The two groaned, slouching slightly. No doubt about it, Homer was going to embarrass them in front of the whole restaurant.

Again.

Homer happily stood up as Mesmerino approached them. The man pulled out a silver coin; a coin that was attached to a thin, silver chain. Everyone watched curiously as Mesmerino gently waved the coin in front of Homer's face. Homer blinked, before his green eyes glazed over and his jaw dropped slightly.

It…it worked?

Mesmerino pocketed the coin, his dark eyes twinkling. "We'll start with something easy," he said lightly. "When I snap my fingers, you'll be a…chicken!" Mesmerino snapped his fingers, and Homer started clucking and acting like a real chicken. Everyone, save for the Simpsons, roared with laughter. Bart and Lisa flushed hotly, slouching even further. Mesmerino snapped his fingers again, and Homer ceased his actions; growing still. The hypnotist smiled slightly. "Alright," he said slowly. "You are now yourself, at twelve years old."

Another snap.

Bart and Lisa watched as a child-like innocence came into their dad's green eyes. It looked like he was about to talk, when his face became a twisted mask of pure, animalistic terror. Before anyone could react, Homer started screaming.

A terrifying wail.

"Homer!" Marge scrambled to her feet, hurrying over to her distressed husband. But, Homer didn't appear to see or hear her; he just kept wailing. Bart and Lisa exchanged uneasy looks as their mom demanded that Mesmerino do something about Homer's screaming. For a moment, Mesmerino seemed to have snapped Homer out of his trance. The heavyset man was panting from all of the needless screaming. Unfortunately, the memory proved to be too strong to overcome, and Homer went back to his screaming. Panicking, Mesmerino ran; much to Marge’s anger.

"Oh, we better get him home."

.-.-.-.  
The Next Day

Thankfully, Homer had calmed down enough to go to work. Marge was just finishing in folding up Bart's clothes, when she heard a familiar, if muffled, wailing. Getting a bad feeling about this, Marge glanced out the bay window and grimaced. Carl Carlson and Lenny Lenderson, two of Homer's friends and fellow colleagues, were dragging a wailing Homer down the driveway. Neither of them looked very happy, and Marge hurried over and opened the door for them.

"Sorry Mrs. S," Carl said sheepishly over Homer's cries. Getting annoyed with the man, Carl hastily covered Homer's mouth. "But he was disrupting things at work." Lenny snorted, but agreed. Homer's cries were getting on the nerves of a lot of people; they had been ordered to take Homer home. The two carefully laid Homer on the couch, before deciding to turn him over onto his stomach. That was when Bart and Lisa walked up to them. "Woah," Bart snickered. "He's still mental!" Carl sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "My guess is that he's struggling with a repressed memory." Lenny looked thoughtful. "When did he start screaming?" He asked curiously. "Last night at the Pimento Grove," Bart piped up. "You mean, after he was tricked by Mesmerino into thinking that he was twelve again," Lisa pointed out, dryly.

Carl and Lenny exchanged looks.

While this was happening, Marge had gone into the kitchen to brew some tea; hoping that it would help calm Homer down. She brought the tea cup out, setting it on the table. After getting him to sit up, Homer was able to drink. A few minutes later, Home had ceased his cries and was finally relaxed enough.

Everyone wanted answers.  
Now.

"Alright Homer," Lenny said sharply, catching the man's attention. "What happened during that summer back then?" Bart and Lisa were surprised by this. "Wait," Lisa sounded shocked. "You guys have been friends for that long?" Carl nodded, smiling softly. "Yeah, we've been friends since we were about your age."

Wow.

Homer frowned, trying to remember that particular summer. "I remember that we hiked a lot along the tracks," he mused. "Wasn't that the summer where Tony and his goons tried to beat us?" Carl wondered, looking over to Lenny. "Yeah, it was something about a tobacco patch," He mumbled. "And if it wasn't for me showing up, you guys would have gotten beaten!" Said a new voice.

E-eh?

Homer turned his head, surprised to find Moe standing just behind Carl and Lenny. "Moe! How'd you get in here?" The gray haired man snorted; and to think, they were the same age! "You left your front door open."

Oh.

Moe took a seat, before leaning forward. "Here's what really happened," he insisted.

[As dusk began to settle, the four boys set up camp with Moe crafting the fire pit. With the stars twinkling above, they sat down for some good old roasting. "I can't believe that your parents let you have a shotgun," Carl said, looking towards the weapon with unease. The gun was currently propped up against Moe’s log.

Moe simply smiled.

Suddenly, a high pitched whistle ripped through the air. "What was that?" Moe demanded, frantic. Carl turned his head slightly, so the others followed his gaze to where the Nuclear Power Plant was. To their shock, flames were blazing furiously from one of the smoke stacks. "Isn't that the new power plant that just opened up?" Lenny asked, turning back to their little camp. "There's your future, Lenny," Carl teased. "Pushing atoms!" Lenny scowled, playfully shoving him. "Friends forever?" Home asked, holding out his right hand. "Friends forever," they agreed, clasping hands. Unfortunately, the heat from the fire burned their hands, causing them to yelp and withdraw.]

"The next day, we headed out to the old quarry for a swim."

[The boys, garbed in their swim trunks, gathered at the top of the quarry. Moe peered over the edge, before paling slightly. "You guys are really going to jump from here?" He asked weakly. Lenny shivered, rubbing his left arm. "No way," He said, sounding frightened. "I'm shaking like a leaf over here!" Carl shuddered and inched away from the cliff. "Only a total moron would jump from here!" Lenny continued in a shrill tone. Not surprisingly, a cheerful Homer ran past them. As he jumped, Homer realized just how stupid it was to jump from such a dangerous height. He landed in the thick mud with a painful crack, but he was at least, still alive.]

Homer frowned as Moe paused. "I remember falling into the mud," he said slowly. "But I don't think that's why I've been screaming." Everyone exchanged uneasy looks at Homer's ominous words.

[Homer groaned from where he laid, his chest burning from the deadly impact. Breathing a bit harshly, the brunette slowly pushed himself up. "Hey, Homer!" Moe called as he looked up. "Come on, we're heading to the mall for a while." And the trio walked off, probably to change clothes. He started to brush the mud off, but he wasn't exactly getting it off; just smearing it. "Hey," Homer blinked, looking around in confusion. "Where'd all the water go?" Homer got to his feet when he saw the sewage pipe. He walked over and peered inside; squinting. "Huh, something's blocking it." Homer spotted a large tree branch propped on a rock, next to the pipe. He picked it up and started poking the object, as if hoping to dislodge it from its spot.

After a few hard jabs, the object came loose. However, Homer got hit in the mouth with a surge of sludge. The object knocked into him, sending him sprawling onto his back. Moments later, clear water started to pool into the quarry. Spluttering wildly, Homer sat up only to freeze as he realized what the object really was.

A rotting corpse.]

Everyone was left sitting in shock as Homer finished his ghastly tale. "You found a body when you were twelve?!" Marge asked, horrified by such a thought. Homer whimpered, shivering as he nodded. "What I want to know is, what the hell was a body doing there?" Moe wondered. Suddenly, the kitchen phone rang and Marge got up to answer it. Whoever the caller was must have been furious as they could hear Marge trying to calm the person down. After a few tense moments, a nervous Marge returned. "Mom," Lisa said worriedly. "Who was that?" Marge grimaced slightly. "That was Mayor Quimby," She said quietly. "Apparently Homer, your screaming has reached him." Homer flinched, twiddling his fingers in embarrassment. "And he's going to be calling for a town meeting about this, tonight."

Uh-oh.

"You know," Lisa mused. "If dad never told anyone about this, then that body should still be there."


	2. Deadly Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth about that tragic night comes out in a way that no one in Springfield would ever forget.

-Town Hall-

It was early evening when the town had gathered for another meeting. And many were wondering why Mayor Quimby had called for one. After all, nothing interesting had happened within Springfield for months. So it was a little more than surprising for everyone when the doors suddenly opened. The overweight police chief, Clancy Wiggum, had his gun aimed at Montgomery Burns, while marching him toward the stage. Behind them, came the dazed Simpson family.

Wonder what happened?

The heavyset brunette that was Mayor Joe Quimby, was standing at the podium, looking annoyed. "What is the meaning of this, Chief Wiggum?" He hissed. However, Mayor Quimby was ignored. Instead, Clancy's dark eyes were focused solely on Mr. Burns. "Montgomery Burns," He said coldly. "You are under arrest for murder."

Murder?!

"I don't know what you're talking about," Burns said sharply. Bart silently apologized to the lost soul, and held out the human skull; much to the shock of the crowd. "Then, how do you explain this?" He snapped. For once, true remorse could be seen within Mr. Burn's stormy gray eyes. Mr. Burns sighed, looking away. "I've been expecting this day for thirty years," he said bitterly. "Never thought that it would actually happen." Clancy rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed. "Quit stalling," he snapped. "Who did you kill?"  
Mr. Burns scowled, glaring at him. "That skull belongs to a dear friend of mine," He paused as many snorted. He knew that he was a selfish man, but he did care for those he considered precious. "Waylon Smithers…senior."

Say what?

Lisa gasped, taking a step back in horror. "Mr. Smithers' father?" She whispered, placing a hand over her heart. The elderly man shifted in unease as disturbing whispers broke out. "Yes, but I did not kill him!" He insisted.

Yeah right.

"The film I brought with me, will prove that I never harmed him!" And sure enough, a film reel was taken from Chief Wiggum's car. The crowd murmured to themselves. Maybe…maybe he was telling the truth.

"Wait!"

Everyone turned to a pale Lisa Simpson. "If that film holds the truth about Mr. Smithers' father," she said slowly. "Shouldn't he be here for this?" Looking around, many realized that Lisa was right. Waylon Smithers was nowhere to be found.

How odd.

Chief Wiggum sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Alright Burns, what's the address?" He asked. "402 Maple Street," Mr. Burns mumbled. Clancy sent his two boys; Eddie and Lou, a look. The duo nodded, and slipped away before anyone could realize a thing.

.-.-.-.  
402 Maple Street

The neighborhood was unusually quiet as a lone cop car came through. The car soon came to a halt, parking just outside a three-story home. Eddie turned his head slightly, eying the home with a wary gaze as Lou switched off the engine. "You sure this is the right place?" Lou frowned. "That's what Mr. Burns said," He answered, sounding grim. "402 Maple Street." The two exchanged uneasy looks, before looking toward the building once more. The building was badly need in repair. The paint was peeling, a shutter was threatening to fall off, the stairs were on the verge of giving out, the grass was overgrown and each window was boarded up tightly. What made them nervous, was seeing the familiar yellow tape wrapped over the door.

"Why would anyone want to live here?" Eddie wondered as they got out. "Something's not right here," Lou said, one hand over his gun. "We better check it out." Thankfully, the stairs held as they went up to the door. Strangely enough, the door wasn't locked. Pushing the tape away, the duo slowly made their way inside. The first thing that they noticed, was the smell. It was a stale, sour odor that caused them to gag. Amidst the odor, the air felt oddly heavy. Looking around, it was clear that no one had lived here for years. There were sheets covering the furniture, thick cobwebs lining the ceiling, and there was thick dust everywhere. "What is that?" Lou asked sharply, before pulling out his flashlight. He could barely make out a dark stain that was along one of the walls. Aiming the light carefully, Lou's dark eyes widen in shocked horror as he realized what the stain was.

Blood.

Dark crimson blood was splashed against the wall, there was a deadly mist going across the ceiling, and even shallow pools on the floor. With this much blood loss, there was no hope for survival. "Waylon Smithers!" Lou called, loudly. "It's the police, are you there?" Eddie tilted his head, as if hearing something. "I can hear movement," he said quietly, gesturing toward the stairs.

Lou nodded.

The duo slowly made their way up, with Lou noting the thick trail of blood droplets. The trail broke off at the second floor and was heading toward a partially opened door. Guess that was their next destination. Standing at the door, Lou pushed it open and the two burst in. Looking around, Lou saw a large puddle in front of a closed off closet. Wait…was there something inside?

A soft swishing sound.

Taking a deep breath, Lou opened the door only to stagger back in utter horror. "This isn't possible…" He whispered.

How could this have happened?

.-.-.-.  
Town Hall

Clancy Wiggum was getting nervous as the crowd grew more and more impatient. Lou and Eddie should have returned by now. He was about to radio them, when the duo finally returned; looking decidedly ill. And what on earth was Lou carrying? Well, whatever it was, was quite large and wrapped up in a dingy sheet. Lou carefully laid it down onto the stage, before giving his boss a nervous look. "Lou," Wiggum said uneasily. "That better not be what I think it is."

Eh?

Before Lou could answer him, he saw that Mayor Quimby was reaching for the sheet. "Mayor," he said in a dangerous tone. "I'd advise against removing that."

What's with him?

"Can we please get this over with?" Eddie grumbled. "I'm going to be having nightmares for weeks," he continued. "I just know it." The duo shuddered, fear flashing in their dark eyes.

Oh?

The film was quickly loaded into the projector. And as the film started, the temperature slowly began to drop; much to the confusion of many.

[...]

A much younger Montgomery Burns was looking over a set of monitors. His stormy eyes reflected his unease, as the alarm rang shrilly. "I don't like this," he mumbled. "These readings are getting too high…"

"Smithers!"

A man in his late forties, hurried over. He was a tall and somewhat thin man, pale skin and sharp features, thinning gray hair and soft, doe brown eyes. A pair of slender, silver frames adorned his nose. He was cradling a tiny baby boy, no older than three months. The baby had a tuft of chestnut hair and the same brown eyes as the man; clearly his father. "I'm sorry Monty," Waylon said, sounding a bit tired. "I was just feeding junior here." Mr. Burns frowned, before shaking his head. "Never mind that," he growled. "There's something wrong with the reactor core!" He gestured to the heavily reinforced metal door. The single Plexiglas window, reflected an eerie green light that illuminated their features as they peered inside.

Waylon sighed. "I'll have to shut it down manually." He carefully handed his son to Mr. Burns, who instinctively cradled the child. "Are you crazy?" Mr. Burns hissed. "You don't know what's in there!" Waylon looked at him with wide brown eyes. "Mr. Burns," he said softly. "If I don't do something, the whole town is doomed." His brown eyes landed on his son, and he caressed the baby's cheek. "Including my son," he whispered, shedding a single tear. Without warning, he opened the door, hurrying inside and sealed the door behind him. Moments later, there was a soft ping, and the alarm immediately ceased, much to Mr. Burns' relief.

He did it!

Smiling, Mr. Burns gently held the baby up to the window. "Look at your heroic daddy in there," he told the child. "Making funny faces, falling to the floor, shedding his hair," He swallowed thickly. "Lying perfectly still…"

"Oh, dear."

A very pale Mr. Burns pulled back, looking down at the baby with wide eyes. It was his fault that the child would have to grow up without a father. Cooing, the baby grabbed his nose and spoke a single word: "Sir."

And Mr. Burns smiled.

[...]

The film ended, and everyone was left reeling in shock. Mr. Burns quietly turned the projector off. "That's what happened," He said bitterly. "Waylon Smithers senior sacrificed his life to save the town." The pain and grief were true, Mr. Burns was truly remorseful for his actions. The crowd was surprised; guess the man was human, after all. "Why did you hide the truth for so long?" Lisa demanded, looking at Mr. Burns with an accusing glare. The man flinched and looked away. His silence was deafening, but it told everyone one thing.

Guilt.

The temperature, which had been steadily dropping, was all but freezing. And was it their imagination, or did the auditorium look darker than normal? His curiosity getting the better of him, Joe Quimby, once again reached for the wrapped up object. Lou and Eddie saw this and panicked. "Mayor, don't!" Lou yelled, reaching a hand out.

Too late.

The sheet easily gave away, revealing its ghastly contents. Those who were the closest to the stage, screamed at the sight. And no wonder why they screamed. Underneath the sheet, were the skeletal remains of a young adult. Ratty chestnut hair was still clinging to the skull, and it was still wearing what looked like the remains of an outfit.

Oh, man…

"W-who was that?" Quimby stuttered, one hand over his heart. Lou sighed, shifting in unease. "That would be Waylon Smithers," he shuddered. "Or what's left of him…"

WHAT?!

"That's impossible!" Lisa cried. "He's alive! We've all seen him!" She insisted. "Not exactly, Miss Lisa," A low, but rich voice spoke out, alarming many. Without warning, a young man was sitting in one of the seats that were on the stage. He was young, very young; late teens to early twenties. Thick chestnut hair, which held a natural silver tint, framed a gentle, yet elegant face, and warm doe brown eyes. A pair of thin, silver frames adorned his nose. Even his clothes were a bit out of style: a green silk shirt, black leather jacket, dark slacks and shiny black shoes. All in all, he looked like a much younger version of Smithers senior. The only difference was that his facial features were slightly different; the mother, perhaps?

It couldn’t be…could it?

"M-Mr. Smithers?" Lisa stuttered as those brown eyes focused on her. She shivered when the man gave a curt nod, before his eyes turned back to the stunned crowd; silently scanning them. "How can you be dead?" Bart asked, skeptically. "You look pretty solid to me." The man smiled slightly, but it was the smile of a shark; a decidedly cruel smile.

"I believe that your sister has something of mine."

Lisa paled.

Trembling, she reached a hand into a hidden pocket. Her fingers grasped tightly around a thin, metal bracelet. Swallowing thickly, she pulled it out, revealing it to be an old medical bracelet. The name had corroded away, but the medical record number and the patient's health issues, remained. The victim suffered from hypothyroidism, a heart defect, a weakened immune system and seizures. A rather dangerous combination, if Lisa was correct about her medical history.

E-Eh?

Lisa squeaked, startled when Waylon was suddenly kneeling before her. He silently held his hand out, and she realized that the bracelet was his. She slowly handed it to him, only to hasp as it went straight through his hand!

"You really are a ghost…"

Blinking, the crowd watched as Waylon appeared next to the projector. "Then let me show you," He raised a hand, which was emitting a soft green light. "The truth…" His hand seemed to sink into the machine, and that was when things got really weird. The building itself abruptly disappeared, as if time itself was reversing. Dozens of images flew by, until it settled on a familiar three-story home. The rundown home flashed before time warped, and the building was back to looking like new.

[...]

A pale and rather ill looking Waylon Smithers had just entered his home, when out of nowhere; he was thrown to the ground. He groaned softly, feeling a bit dazed, if not worried. Still dazed, he felt a swift kick to his ribs. "Get up," a voice hissed, and he felt himself being lifted to his feet. But, not before he was clubbed, knocking his glasses off. "You would think that you would have heeded our warnings," The voice continued, alerting Waylon. Head throbbing, he had a sickening realization. "Poisoned," he whispered, rasping a bit. So that’s why he had been so ill lately…

He was being poisoned.  
But…but why?

"What…what do you…want with…me?" He demanded, coughing heavily. Someone leaned in, and he felt the warm breath. "Your father," they growled. Waylon inwardly frowned. His father had died when he was just a baby. And as far as he was aware of, his father had been a kind and honest man.

"Take care of him."

At those cold words, a sense of dark anger consumed him. Waylon took a deep breath, before his brown eyes narrowed slightly. Without warning, he lashed out with a fist, knocking back whoever had been holding him. Waylon staggered back, his brown eyes searching wildly. Unfortunately, without his glasses, all he could see were colorful blurs. He counted at least six blurs, which meant that he was greatly outnumbered. He couldn't even tell if they were armed or not, for crying out loud!

"Get him."

Uh-oh.

One such blur lunged for him, and Waylon instinctively ducked. As he crouched, he raised his hands and by some miracle, threw the person over him. There was a sickening crack as they hit the wall. Another blur lunged for him, lashing out with a hand.  
Waylon swept to the right, allowing the blur to collide with the wall. Moments later, a sharp stabbing sensation went across his left side. The sudden pain was followed by a gush of warm liquid.

Ah, shit.

Placing a hand over his bloodied side, Waylon gritted his teeth. The last attacker must have had a knife on them; it was the only thing that could have caused this kind of damage. Which meant that the intruders were indeed armed.

He was seriously fucked.

Realizing that the two who he had knocked out, had inadvertently created a distraction. Sensing this, Waylon inched toward the stairs, praying that he could make it without being seen. He had just reached the stairs, when he heard the angry cursing from the living room. 

Crap.

Knowing that he didn't have much time, Waylon hurried up the stairs; breaking off at the second floor. Unfortunately, he had left behind a trial of blood. He went into the study, slamming the door behind him; leaving a bloody handprint. Waylon closed his eyes, shedding a single tear. Somehow, he knew that he would not survive this night. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Who he was apologizing too, Waylon wasn't sure. But that single phrase that he uttered so quietly, helped somewhat. 

Then the door was thrown open…

[...]

The images began to move rapidly. Images showing the man being tortured, when the door to the study suddenly slammed shut. The crowd jumped as the image reflected the study in its decrypted condition. This also showed the skeleton hanging from the closet ceiling. Without warning, the fleeting images abruptly vanished as Waylon Smithers withdrew his hand. Now extremely pale, the spirit fell to his knees; breathing heavily. Looking at him closely, Lisa realized that something was wrong. 

He looked tired and ill.

Things were beginning to make a sickening sort of sense. "Why haven't you moved on?" Lenny called out, sounding curious. The spirit straightened himself up, no longer tired, but a murderous look overcame him. "Because he couldn't," Lisa said slowly, the horrific realization dawned on her. 

Eh?

"You were murdered, dying without knowing the truth about your father." Lisa sounded awfully smug right about now. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"There's just one thing that I don't understand," Lou said with a frown. "One thing?" Eddie muttered. "If the trail and what was in the study was Smithers," Lou looked decidedly ill. "Then, whose blood was that?!" Waylon Smithers, who had apparently heard him, cackled as he vanished.

An ominous silence followed.  
May…maybe that was one question that shouldn't be answered.


	3. One Year Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's All Hallows Eve, the one night where the veil between realms has thinned. Montgomery Burns is paying one last visit to an old friend...Waylon Smithers.

Halloween

The air was cool and crisp, the scent of autumn fresh in the air. Tonight was the night where the veil between worlds thinned, and trickery and magic was abound. While children enjoyed this fun night, one lone man was determined to finish what had been started so long ago.

For once in his life, Charles 'Montgomery' Burns, was feeling his age. Ever since that frightful night upon discovering the secret of his assistant; Waylon Smithers, things hadn't been quite the same. What no one had known was that Mr. Burns had taken a few hairs from the remains, and had sent the sample to a lab that he was acquainted with. Knowing that it would be weeks before the results would come in, Mr. Burns kept himself busy searching for the men who had harmed his friend.

And what he found, disturbed him.

They went by many names, but it didn't matter to him. What did matter, was that someone had ordered a hit on Waylon Smithers. Unfortunately, whoever had issued the order, was a little too good at cleaning up. Hell, even the man’s own father, his file, was in the same pristine condition. Scrubbed clean to the point of being nonexistent. Although, there was that sudden rash of murders back in the mid-seventies…

Anyway, after several weeks of dreadful waiting, the test results came back. This had included the autopsy report, something that he had insisted on. And the results were truly shocking for the old man. The hair sample had tested positive for a lethal amount of arsenic, which meant he had been slowly poisoned over the course of months; if not for years. How he had survived that prior to that night, was anyone's guess. The autopsy report, however, showed just how much Waylon had suffered prior to his death.

Dozens of shattered bones and a fractured skull, an indication of a savage beating. The final straw for Montgomery, had been the notes of a broken neck.

Damn.

Mr. Burns shook his head, trying to clear his mind. None of that now, he told himself. He had come here for a reason and he couldn’t let his depressive thoughts stop him. With his health failing, Montgomery knew that he didn't have much time. Sighing, he leaned on his cane as he hurried on through the cemetery. In his other hand, he was cradling two unique bouquets; one full of tiger lilies and the other held pure white roses.

Ah, there we are.

There, underneath an oak tree, were two particular graves. The words 'Waylon Smithers senior', and 'Waylon Smithers junior', was written in an elegant cursive. He carefully placed the lilies upon the father's grave, then the roses onto the son's; before taking a step back. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I just wish that I could have done more." Montgomery froze when he felt a gentle pressure against his back; almost as if someone was hugging him. This was immediately followed by a loving warmth.

"It's alright, Monty…"

That voice…it couldn't be…  
…could it?

The pressure slowly lifted, but the tender warmth lingered. A gentle breeze swept through, and he swore he heard the faint sounds of sweet laughter. A faint smile crossed his lips and Montgomery Burns turned to leave.

"You're forgiven sir."

THE END

.-.-.-.

Happy Halloween everyone!


End file.
